Perceptions
by laurydory
Summary: The former members of the 4077th are all drawn to Crabapple Cove for an important and emotional day but each of them feels differently about being there.
1. Regret

A/N: Hi all! Well this idea has been following me around for the past week and I really liked it. Unfortunately, the words are being stubborn and disobedient and (as usual) it just will not turn out quite how I envisioned it. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it.

-**ooo-**

Margaret harshly studies the face of the woman at the front of the church; in so many ways her opposite. She begrudgingly admits, to herself if no-one else, that she doesn't dislike what she sees. Hair as dark as her husband's but underscored with hues of red. Rich brown eyes that shine with intelligence and humour. A sweet face and graceful figure. No wonder he found her irresistible. Under the scrutiny of some of Hawkeye's oldest friends, Anna holds her head high. She is clearly strong. She would have to be. No other woman had succeeded in putting a ring on his finger. Margaret wipes an unexpected tear away. It should have been her seated in the front pew. It could have been her, if she'd wanted. He had always made that clear in his own way. Sure he had acted the scoundrel, always chasing the women and the booze. But deep down, he was really just a little boy. She had often called him childish, not every time meaning to insult. It had hurt her to watch that boy transform into a cynical young man with old eyes and grey hair. After the war he had written to her. Just once. A sweet, sad, hopeful little missive that reflected her own fears and dreams. She knew how difficult it must have been to send. But she had chosen her career over him. Over any man. Surrounded by people propped up by their loved ones, she begins to wonder why. When she goes home at night what does 'Lieutenant Colonel Houlihan' mean? It certainly doesn't keep her warm. Would she have been happier with this life? A doctor's wife in small town. She wipes away another tear. It is too late now. She will never know. Margaret can't escape the unanswered letter marked Crabapple Cove which she still keeps under her pillow.

Her heart stings with regret.


	2. Hope

**AN: Well I'm still not entirely happy with this story but I'm nothing if not persistent so I'll see it through to the end. In any case, I'm so sick of staring at this chapter and not changing anything that I had to post it for my own sanity. On another note, I'm quite proud of my use of 'Fall' instead of Autumn. Very authentic don't you agree :)**

John Francis Patrick Mulcahy pokes his head around the vestry door. Dust motes float lazily in the muted light of the stained-glass windows. A low hum rises from the pews and even his failing ears can detect that chatter is at a minimum. Everyone is suitably subdued as they take their places and it all seems a little too sombre to him. Not at all appropriate for the dark haired joker he remembers from Korea. The Father closes the door quietly and turns back to his preparations. He reassuringly pats the bulk in his pocket and checks that it is connected properly to the bud in his ear. Most days he prefers to do without the awkward hearing device but this afternoon's service must be perfect. Hawkeye deserves nothing less. The gentle padre reflects on his invitation to preside over the service. Apparently, he must have meant something to the lanky physician. Said physician certainly meant something to the priest. Among many others. The Father is deeply touched just to be here.

Done with the mundane preparations, Mulcahy kneels before the small window for one last, private prayer before facing the swelling crowd on the far side of the door. Although not nearly as elaborate as the stained-glass masterpieces in the main church, this bare window seems all the more captivating for its simplicity. The burnt coppers and reds of a Fall evening in Maine are as perfect and picturesque as their biggest fan had always claimed. This was the Maine that would bring a light to Hawkeye's eyes. Many in the camp had smirked cynically as the enthusiastic surgeon waxed poetic about this jewel of the east coast but the little priest had always been enchanted by the stories. They brought out an innocence in Hawkeye which he was all too often guilty of dispensing with. Maine and Hawkeye, Hawkeye and Maine. They would forever be inextricably linked in the Father's mind. Standing before the vibrant scene, the pervasive hint of the ocean tantalising his senses, Mulcahy understands. It is clear that Crabapple Cove is truly the Eden of Hawkeye's legend.

Bowing his head against the perfect vista, Mulcahy utters his prayer. For Hawkeye. The man was always reckless and irreverent. Most certainly not pious. But a heart as filled with joy and love as Hawkeye's deserves to find paradise. He has already served his time in hell, condemned for sins not yet committed. They all have. No, not a pristine soul but a perfect one all the same.

Bathing in the golden warmth of the late afternoon sun, Father Mulcahy is filled with hope. For Hawkeye and for all of them.

Done with his personal reflection, the priest crosses himself once, smiles wistfully and steps outside to let the communal grieving begin.


	3. Anger

Mrs. Potter's Mr. Potter sits upright in his seat; ram-rod straight despite age. He shouldn't be here. So many wars, so much killing and destruction. It seems surreal to be sitting in a quiet New England church farewelling a man half his age. Pierce never had a chance at life. Of course, no one can deny he lived every minute of the one granted to him. In fact, some might say he lived a little too much. Horse hockey in Potter's opinion. No such thing as living too much. The sad truth is, time is short. For some even more so than others. From college to residency to war. His first big adventure wasn't exactly a tiptoe through the tulips. Then again a young Corporal Potter's first foray into the big wide world hadn't been a walk in the park either. So many years ago. He'd not been unlike Hawkeye back then. Bursting with his own self-importance, confident that he knew all there was to know and determined to prove this to everybody. A lifetime has changed all that. The steady progression of time has taught him much and yet there is still more he doesn't understand. Like how cruel fate can be. In a war you expect the young to die. It doesn't make it any easier, except maybe on the old ticker, but at least you expect it. When he'd returned home to gardening and canasta and Sunday brunches he'd thought he was done with that. He'd thought it would be his turn next. It darn well should have been his turn next! Sitting up even straighter, the retired colonel takes small comfort from the warmth of his wife's creased hand around his. The woman knows him better than anyone. She can see straight through his attempt at stoicism; right to the core of what bothers him.

A complete stranger, a man none of them will ever meet, has too many drinks but decides to drive anyway. A carefree young surgeon, eager to get home to his new wife, steps into the street without looking. Just like that another life is snuffed out. Another widow is left with nothing but soulless possessions to remind her of what might have been. The infidelity of one man's wife leads to the heartbreak of another's.

And they say war is senseless!

The little doctor can feel himself trembling with anger. He's annoyed that Korea stole three precious years of their lives. He's mad at Hawkeye for not being more careful and he's absolutely furious at the man who ran down a dear friend.

But above all this is the truth that Mildred is gracious enough not to put words to. He is most angry at himself for not writing or calling sooner. And at life for denying him the chance to rectify this.

**AN: Hi folks! Hope you enjoyed this and reviews are always warmly received. Just wanted everyone's opinion on something: do you think we should invite Frank to the funeral?**


	4. Love

For the first time in many years Radar wishes he had kept his teddy bear. Still, he can't imagine it having gone to a better recipient. Two of his greatest comforts in the whole war, united. He hopes they were as good to each other as they were to him. The little corporal had thought he'd need neither the bear nor the man once the whole mess was behind him. That was stupid. A plane trip was nowhere near sufficient to leave it all behind. Naïve little Radar, thinking it was all that easy. He'd been a silly little farm boy back then. Even all the growing up he'd done, courtesy of Korea, had not taught him that life just isn't that simple. Lucky his wife understood. She'd been there too and together they had gotten through it. Through the aftermath, the adjustment. But it wasn't just her. He had still needed Hawkeye, his big brother, his good friend, and Hawkeye had been there. Even after all the older man had suffered, he'd still listened to Radar's problems. He'd still written long, funny, understanding letters. And Radar had been there for him too. Still the farm boy but no longer naïve. The first few years, he'd almost lost hope of rediscovering the Hawkeye he'd first met. Of course, there was really no going back to the people they were back then. But thankfully a new Hawkeye had emerged with time. A more mature, serious man but with the same wicked sense of humour and although he laughed less often, the laugh was wholesome, hearty and infectious. Not the hard, humourless, almost manic one he'd begun to acquire as the months in hell piled up.

Hawkeye taught him so much over there. He would give tips and advice on being yourself or wooing the fairer sex (something Radar had never truly mastered – not that it had ended up mattering). He set strong examples of how to be confident, to stick by your beliefs, to remain cool under the most extreme pressure. He'd even offered some lessons unintentionally. The biggest of these being that nobody is perfect. Not even our idols. That had been a tough lesson but once he'd come to see Hawkeye as human, their bond had evolved from one-sided hero worship into a real friendship. Give and take. Radar is sure that Hawkeye learnt a bit from him too. Maybe this is just wishful thinking but it's a nice thought.

As Father Mulcahy clears his throat, the hush in the church deepens to an expectant silence. The tears in his eyes are misting up his glasses, making it nearly impossible for Radar to see but he can feel Patty take his hand soothingly. He is overcome with a rush of love for his wife who travelled all this distance to be there for him even while heavily pregnant with their third child. Shaking the salty droplets off his lenses, Radar focuses on the dark-haired woman sitting alone at the front of the church. He's glad Hawkeye had the chance to share such intimacy with someone. At first the doctor had seemed like such a god when it came to the ladies but Radar has come to realise there is a big difference between the relationships Hawkeye had in Korea and real love. Quality over quantity. He's glad Hawkeye realised this too.

Oh! But what he wouldn't give for the chance to play one more game of poker, receive one more piece of dubious advice, organise one more scheme with the man he loves so much. The little farmer knows he has lost someone truly dear but he'll never say goodbye. His hero, his friend will always be in his heart and the hearts of everyone in this church. Everyone who loved him. There were many.


	5. Envy

Frank hovers in the shadows at the back of the church. It is packed. So many people have come to say goodbye to Pierce. And Frank among them. A surprise even to himself. Why had the tiny announcement in the Boston Globe caught his eye? Why had he taken the time off work? Why travel so far to attend this unhappy reunion? It's not as if one of these people would even know whether Frank himself was alive or dead. Most would probably be happy if it was the latter. Well nertz to them. Nertz to them all.

Spotting Margaret a few rows from the front, he considers sitting next to her but finds himself hesitating. Word of her divorce had reached him during the war and Frank had waited gleefully for her inevitable return. There was no counting the times he'd imagined her crawling back to him, begging for forgiveness. He would make her sweat at first, make her feel the pain she had inflicted on him. Then he'd graciously set her up in a nice flat nearby and life would be right again. But nothing had happened. No letter, no phone call. Nothing. He's sure she knows that he made Lieutenant-Colonel. Of course she does. They must have all been informed. It would have been so satisfying to return to the camp with his new insignia, new status. That would've shown those layabouts. Then they'd have had no choice but to respect him, if not like him. Okay, maybe 'like' would have been a little too much to hope for. None of those shirkers ever had time for him. No-one ever has time for him. Relatives or distant acquaintances, everyone ends up hating Frank Burns. Why? It hardly seems fair. Pierce was coarse, slovenly, rude. He was insubordinate and disobeyed every rule in the book. And yet this church is ready to burst with the volume of mourners packed inside. No-one had so much as written to Frank since his discharge.

Not even Margaret.

The one woman, the one person he thought understood, even liked him. She encouraged his attempts to militarise the camp, she egged him on in his feuds with Pierce and McIntyre and later Hunnicutt too. So what was she doing here, bawling her eyes out over the man she so often called a degenerate? What did he have that Frank doesn't?

Of course he knows the answer. Pierce was fun. He was handsome, a good doctor. He was self-assured without being selfish. He cared about other people far more than Frank ever could. But that is a lot easier to do when people care about you too. Pierce would never have been so wonderful if everyone hated him. So maybe Frank isn't the best doctor in the world. Maybe he can't come up with witty quips on the spot. He never cared too much for the gooks that came through the 4077th either, but was he to be blamed? It was a war and they were the enemy. Why should he treat those commies when his fellow Americans had been the ones to shoot them in the first place? Franklin M. Burns is nothing if not a patriot. A patriot with a successful practise, an expensive house, two cars. Pierce had nothing.

Except a church full of well-wishers.

The Fort Wayne man just can't see what he should be doing differently. At least he still has a wife. She doesn't think very highly of him either, never has. They don't even sleep in the same room anymore. But it has been this way with her throughout their entire marriage. Before their marriage, if he's honest. He never had any expectations where Louise was concerned. No hopes to be crushed. Not like having the one woman you ever loved fall for your mortal enemy. Louise is a wife in name only but she is the one person he hasn't scared away. That has to count for something, right?

The uninvited guest squeezes along the back pew, offering apologies and sharp rebukes as they are warranted. Taking his seat between an overweight elderly woman and a man who, judging by the smell, can only be the local fishmonger, Frank sighs at the bleak realisation of what his life really amounts to.

You know you've got problems when you're envious of a dead man.


	6. Nostalgia

Looking around the church, Klinger can see many a familiar face, tearstained though they may be. When he'd first left Korea, seeing these people would probably have been unbearably painful but now, despite the sadness of the day, the memories these faces evoke are surprisingly pleasant and even reassuring. Really, the 4077th wasn't such a bad place to be if you could ignore the boredom, the blood, the rats and lice, the lousy food and dreadful pay; if you could forget the strict rules, the mindless regulations and the very real possibility of being blown to smithereens for taking a leisurely walk in the wrong direction. Sure, it was hell on a hot dog but it was home and they were family.

Boy, were they one messed up family though.

A crazy knot of brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles and the odd in-law you'd rather forget except that he kept turning up at the dinner table. No wonder it was impossible to get out for being crazy. The only thing that would have seemed odd in that flea nest would have been to act normal. What did a cross-dressing corporal have on that bunch of nuts? There was the psychic kid who slept with a teddy bear, the horse-mad Colonel, the just mad Colonel. There were his and hers Majors doing battle with doctors who moonlighted as pranksters. There were cooks who couldn't cook and corpsmen who could, a priest with a mean left hook and a condescending snob who taught Mozart to POWs. And, of course, there was Hawkeye. For all his jokes and stunts, he often seemed the sanest of the lot. Maybe that's why it hurt him so deeply in the end.

Shaking away this sad memory, Klinger focuses on the present and the little priest at the front of the church. Father Mulcahy is telling the congregation about some of Hawkeye's more selfless acts. The time he nearly got himself court-martialled for helping Sister Teresa's orphanage, the soldier he stayed behind to operate on despite advancing enemy troops, the countless lives saved with either the surgeon's knife or the jester's cap. The Father's eyes are misty with bittersweet memories and Klinger shares his pain. Hawkeye was a good man.

Seated in the row in front of him, the normally bubbly Nurse Kellye is sniffling noisily and Klinger, handing a handkerchief over her shoulder, can't help but smile. Glancing around in surprise, her round face breaks into a watery grin and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. He's forcibly reminded of the last time he saw her, the last time many of these people were under the same roof, if such a word can be applied to the stretch of canvas under which they ate. It was certainly nothing like the vaulted elegance of this ceiling but in many ways he would rather be there, celebrating the end of the war, than in this quiet seaside town mourning the end of a life. The drafty tent had been overflowing with the joy and relief of their own survival. In truth, there was also an undercurrent of sorrow; a palpable sense of shared loss, which remained mostly unspoken. Loss of innocence, loss of faith, loss of dear friends. But they had survived and they had done it together. The unsuccessful draft-dodger is exceedingly proud to name himself among that host of amazing individuals. They never missed an opportunity to celebrate life whether it be through the annual Christmas parties for the local children (which Santa always did his best to attend although not even he was above the call of the war) or the drunken welcome of another year despite the prospect it may well be their last. There was no shortage of laughter, revelry, dancing. No spring day passed unappreciated amid the oppressively dark cloak of war. And whether or not it was all a way to pretend they were anywhere but the front line of a bloody fire-fight is irrelevant. They never lost their ability to smile, Hawkeye least of all, and that in itself is something to celebrate.

During those dark years, Klinger would have gladly recommended a Section 8 for anyone who thought he would miss the place. Back then, he couldn't wait to leave and would do anything to achieve that end.

Now though, the fear and horror seem so far away and the Lebanese realises that miss it he does. Perhaps not so much the place itself. Definitely not the tents or the jeeps or the stretch of dirt they planted the flag in. But the group of people that he was closer to than any other, he misses them deeply.

Maxwell Q. Klinger is no fool. People might say hindsight is 20/20, but he knows that nostalgia is desperately short-sighted. Sometimes that's the only thing that makes it bearable.

Those close to Hawkeye have said their piece now and Klinger looks around curiously as Father Mulcahy calls for others to share their memories. Some of the 4077th crowd look as though they'd like to get up (Kellye even half rises before apparently thinking better of it) and the Toledo man can understand what they are all thinking. How they'd love to describe what Hawkeye gave them, who he was when he was in Korea, but they aren't sure if some of his antics are appropriate on so solemn an occasion.

What if his family knew a different man?

Well, what if they did? This day is about remembering and Klinger'll be damned if Hawkeye doesn't get remembered in full glory. Gathering himself, the ex-sergeant begins to make his way towards the pulpit, his progress punctuated by surprised whispers and a few nervously stifled giggles from his fellow veterans. It isn't until a hauntingly familiar laugh cuts through the hush that everyone lets their coiled emotions free. Daniel Pierce's booming cackle, much like his son's used to, has eased the tension in the room and Klinger can see many a familiar face, tearstained though they may be, beaming expectantly at this reminder of their past.

It's strange, but that's the other thing he misses about being in the army. These days there just aren't enough opportunities to wear floor length black satin and a Warner bra.


End file.
